


Overnighter

by doomcake



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Clothing Kink, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Injuries, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-16
Updated: 2009-01-16
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake/pseuds/doomcake
Summary: It begins at the check-in line at the airport.





	Overnighter

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 NOTES:  
> Originally this was written for a New Year KHR fic exchange thing for 2008-2009. I almost didn't finish it on time because I had more ideas, but not enough time to write them out, so that's why this ends with a lot of open questions. (I had high hopes of properly finishing it one day, but never got around to it. Ah well.)  
>   
> Original prompt/request: 8059 (one of multiple pairings), Yamamoto with a clothes fetish involving his jersey.

Gokudera fidgets in annoyance as they stand in line, toting their bags – they were running a little behind, but Yamamoto doesn't think it will really be a big deal because they still have another hour and a half before their flight leaves if it isn't delayed by snow – and Yamamoto doesn't dare say a word.

Especially since it's technically his fault they're late.

Well, it's not his fault he had to take care of his New Year's obligations ahead of time; the mission is kind of last-minute, and they're not going to be home for the main part of the festivities. That, and he still has a list of presents he's behind on. Like Gokudera's present, because even though he feels like he does know the other guardian very well, he _still_ can't figure out what to get his grouchy counterpart.

Speaking of the grouch, Gokudera's standing just ahead and crossing his arms and staring him in that, _stop being an idiot and keep moving_ kind of way. _Oops._ Yamamoto laughs sheepishly as he grabs his bag and moves forward, even though Gokudera clearly isn't amused. Gokudera mutters something irritable under his breath – Yamamoto is pretty sure he hears _idiot_ in there somewhere, and knows it's about him, _haha wow, we really must be cutting it close_ – and by the time they finally reach one of the airline's agents, Gokudera is positively bristling.

Yamamoto takes care of the talking, at that point. And he doesn't say a damn thing when Gokudera decides to check his bag, because even though Gokudera is by far a more seasoned traveler, there's a short fuse there that Yamamoto doesn't want to even think about triggering at this point. Not in public. Yamamoto decides to chalk it up to being a matter of weaponry, because most of what Gokudera packs can't be brought on a plane, even with the best of Mafioso connections that they can buy with Vongola funds and reputation.

It isn't until they land in Italy – three hours late, thanks to the snow on the ground here – that Yamamoto feels a little guilty for not saying anything about the bag. They're standing at the baggage claim customer service counter, Yamamoto with his bag in hand, and Gokudera playing the intimidation game that he plays so well with the clerk, and Gokudera's bag still nowhere in sight. Yamamoto begins to worry that he might have to break up the inevitable scuffle, when Gokudera's European phone rings and does the job for him.

"Gokudera," Gokudera snaps. There's a pause, and then, "Shit. Yeah, I'll be right there." In Italian – a local issue, then? Gokudera looks at his watch. "Give me about fifteen minutes." Another pause – Yamamoto raises his eyebrows in question, but only gets an annoyed glare from Gokudera in response. "No, no, I get it – I'll come alone."

Well, now. That won't do – Yamamoto isn't pleased, but at this point Gokudera's already snapping his phone shut and gearing up to face the clerk again.

"Look, you dimwitted jackass," Gokudera snaps at the clerk in Italian (Yamamoto is proud of himself for understanding at least that much after Gokudera's crash course in Italian a few months back). He's scribbling something down on an airline baggage address tag with a golf pencil, and practically tosses it at the clerk. "You get the bag, you call me on this number _immediately_. Got it?"

The clerk nods nervously.

Yamamoto reaches out to grab Gokudera's shoulder, but Gokudera whirls to face him first. In Japanese, "And you, idiot – you go check in at the hotel. I'll be there shortly."

Whoa now, this isn't part of the plan. "What are you planning to do, Gokudera?" he asks, voice serious. He doesn't like the look on Gokudera's face.

"Taking care of a personal issue," Gokudera replies irritably, but he won't look Yamamoto in the eye – _so he's lying_. "Just go; I promise I'll be right behind you. Don't worry about it."

Gokudera's stubborn at the best of times, but even more of a thick-headed fool when he's pissed; Yamamoto knows that anything he says will be like arguing with a brick wall, so he grits his teeth and bites his tongue instead. But he won't nod and go along with the sudden change in plans so easily.

"Don't do something stupid," is all he says.

Gokudera's smirk is more than enough to give him cause to worry. He worries the moment Gokudera turns his back, walks away without a damn thing to his name aside the nice dress suit and scarf he's currently wearing, and leaves Yamamoto to find his own way to the hotel. And he continues to worry when Gokudera doesn't show up at the hotel in time for dinner – Yamamoto finds a local Japanese restaurant to eat, alone, while he's waiting – and when Gokudera _still_ isn't there at the room when he gets out of the shower.

And the more he worries, the angrier he becomes.

He gets one phone call – from Tsuna, checking in – and feels guilty as hell for lying that all is well, but even angrier than before at Gokudera for lying to _them both_. Besides, it should be up to Gokudera to explain away his own issues dealing with "personal business" to Tsuna when the time comes; it isn't Yamamoto's job. But now Yamamoto knows that Gokudera's absence has nothing to do with Tsuna's orders, and is being done without Tsuna's knowledge.

The lights are out, and Yamamoto is tucked into one of the two single beds – sitting up and wide awake, eyes glittering in the dark room – when Gokudera finally opens the door and tries to quietly make his way to the bathroom.

Yamamoto has to resist the urge to get up and greet him with a punch to the face. Instead, he just waits until Gokudera is halfway across the room before he silently gets up and follows. The room isn't large, by any means, but Gokudera is almost to the bathroom before Yamamoto catches up with him.

"You're late," he says flatly – suddenly – and it causes Gokudera to jump, tripping over the corner of the second single bed with a string of curses in Italian floating from the floor.

"Fuck, you goddamned _idiot_!" Gokudera growls – in Japanese, this time – when he finally pulls himself back to his feet. He sounds weary, almost like he's short on breath, and it takes him a moment to pull himself up. "You scared the living shit out of me!"

Yamamoto frowns in the dark, knows Gokudera well enough to get that he's in one of his _moods_ , and then instinctively _gets it_ – that something's off here, not quite right. He reaches over and turns on the light, turns to look at Gokudera, and–

He freezes.

Gokudera looks like he's been dragged behind a truck – all bruises and cuts and scrapes and burns, and his jacket and dress shirt are nearly torn to shreds. And… and there's blood. Enough of it that Yamamoto swears his heart is skipping beats. It takes everything Yamamoto has in him to not run to Gokudera, because he knows Gokudera well enough to know when _not_ to say a damn word.

"Damn it," he says anyway, hissing the words under his breath. He reaches for Gokudera's destroyed collar; he can't help himself.

"Don't fucking start with me – and don't touch me," Gokudera snarls – as expected of him – shoving Yamamoto's hands away before he sighs. "This isn't my fault. This… this guy I know needed to meet up with me to talk about something, and we were ambushed. I need to make a couple of phone calls, and then you can do what you want."

"What about the guys you were fighting?" Yamamoto asks, trying not to worry too much. Gokudera's alive, _here_ , isn't he? It should be enough for now. He doesn't dare ask _what_ this is all about, not just yet.

Gokudera can't meet his gaze, and that is more than enough answer for the ex-baseball player. "That's part of why I need to make a few calls – one of them is for cleanup."

_It figures._ Yamamoto grabs for Gokudera's collar again, this time ignoring Gokudera's attempt to push him away. "You can make that call in a minute – right now, you're going to sit over there on the bed, and I'm going to get the first aid kit and clean _you_ up."

Gokudera glares at him, but doesn't argue – maybe Yamamoto is getting better at the intimidation game too, because it seems to be working on his counterpart. There's stiffness about Gokudera's frame as he half-limps to the bed, shrugs off his torn suit jacket – it just _had_ to be one of the expensive ones – and begins to unbutton his ruined shirt with a grimace.

Neither speaks as Yamamoto helps tug the ruined shirt from Gokudera's back. Aside from the rustle of cloth and a few pained hisses that escape through Gokudera's teeth, the room is completely silent. Yamamoto frowns as more skin is revealed; some of the cuts along Gokudera's back are bad enough to likely need stitches.

" _Ah–_ " Gokudera's breath hitches as Yamamoto brushes an antibiotic wipe across one of the deeper scrapes along Gokudera's shoulder. "Fuck."

Yamamoto bites his lip as he cleans some of the injuries, because he really thinks that Gokudera should be seeing a proper doctor – field dressings can only do so much. And it doesn't help to know that they're supposed to meet up with Tsuna in the morning.

… Which brings to Yamamoto's mind the question: _what is Gokudera going to wear?_

"… You _do_ realize that we're having breakfast with Tsuna in the morning, right?" Yamamoto says hesitantly, once he remembers that Gokudera wasn't there when Tsuna called earlier. And yes, there is a hint of irritation in his voice; because that also reminds him he's supposed to be angry.

Gokudera tenses – " _What?!_ " – and then he winces as he jerks against Yamamoto's fingertips. "Ow! F- _Fuck_ , that hurts!" he adds in a hiss. He bats Yamamoto's hands away with a growl. "Since when was this part of the plan? He's three days early!"

It is difficult for Yamamoto to resist the vindictive urge to lead Gokudera around by the nose on this one, but instead he shrugs and says, "Since this afternoon. Tsuna called after you disappeared to let me know he was headed this way, too."

" _Why_?"

Yamamoto shrugs again, ignoring the pointed stare he gets from Gokudera. "He didn't say. Maybe the air fare was cheaper before New Year's Eve?"

Gokudera snorts. "Like the Vongola need to watch what they spend."

"Haha, but you know how Tsuna is."

There is a wistful smile tugging at the corner of Gokudera's lips as they form the words, "… Yeah, I guess he would be that way." But he only wears the look for a moment, until he realizes that Yamamoto is watching him – the smile quickly vanishes under a scowl. "What?"

Yamamoto sometimes forgets that he's smiling; it's such a habit at this point, that it doesn't register in his mind that he's doing it until someone – usually Gokudera – points it out to him. Like now. His hand presses a little too hard against a wound in Gokudera's back, and Gokudera flinches and grunts in pain, giving Yamamoto a dirty look.

"Haha, oops – sorry!" Yamamoto says.

"You fucking moron," Gokudera says, but it's spoken softly and his shoulders finally relax.

Yamamoto does his best pulling the larger cuts together with butterfly tape – it's all he has on hand, in the first aid kit that seems to find its way into his luggage every time they travel – and patches the rest of Gokudera's injuries up with gauze. Gokudera looks haggard at this point; tired and jetlagged and extremely sore – and there's something else bothering him, Yamamoto thinks. Not quite sure what it is, but he will in time. For now, though, the problem of Gokudera's missing suitcase comes back to mind.

"Shit," Gokudera mutters – he remembers, as well. He opens his mouth, hesitates – Yamamoto lets him think about it a few moments before offering it himself.

"I have my old sports jersey you could borrow tonight," he says, finally. "It'll be a little big on you, but I think that's ideal with your injuries, haha."

Gokudera glares at him, almost as if he's going to refuse the offer; but then his brow furrows – he's thinking about something – before he turns to Yamamoto with one eyebrow arched. "Why the fuck did you bring _that_ along with you?" he asks.

For a moment, Yamamoto can't do anything but blink, and then he too wonders why it really is that he lugs that old jersey around. He hasn't played baseball in almost a year now – took some time off to focus more on Vongola family matters (and making sure Gokudera doesn't kill himself trying to be enough Guardian for the both of them) – but the jersey does manage to find its way into every suitcase he packs. He shrugs, chuckling sheepishly.

"Dunno – for good luck, I guess. It's a baseball thing," he says.

Gokudera snorts and shakes his head.

"Baseball freak," he mutters.

He takes the jersey anyway, pulling it on over his head and stiffly working his arms through the sleeves. As it settles over his shoulder, he half-heartedly glares at Yamamoto, but Yamamoto only half-notes the expression as he stares (and doesn't realize he's doing it – not at first). And keeps staring.

And decides that even though the shoulders are a little too broad, and that the arm holes are a little too wide… _damn_. There's the flash of an image in his brain that tells him, _I just want to see Gokudera in_ only _that jersey_. Because it's like he's marking his own territory in a way, with his name in bold red lettering along the back shoulders of the jersey, and that in itself speaks something about whatever it is they have right now, he and Gokudera and something that hasn't yet been spoken outside of the bedroom, or in words other than pleasured gasps and moans and body language. But the analysis stops there once the hot spot boiling in Yamamoto's belly sinks lower, and–

And in that instant, Yamamoto doesn't think anymore, he just moves – the next thing he knows, he's pressing Gokudera into the mattress and working the jersey's buttons apart. And then he realizes that Gokudera isn't entirely resisting him, either, not until he sees the first expanse of white bandage across the soft skin of the Storm Guardian's stomach, and when his fingers brush against a purple-black bruise and elicit a half-groan, half-hiss.

"Goddamn it, you _idiot_ ," Gokudera breathes, his breath hitching on every syllable. "C-Careful – _ah_!"

Yamamoto's only response is to press his lips against the edges of the butterfly tape holding together two sides of a cut that runs over Gokudera's collarbone – Gokudera trembles, and it sends a warm shot of adrenaline through Yamamoto's veins. And from then on, it's entirely a blur. Fingers, tangled in hair and then sliding down damaged pants, revealing scarred skin while lips and teeth and warm breath and shuddering gasps and finally – _finally_ – skin on skin, calluses on softer flesh, and–

It ends in a tangle of limbs and sheets and Yamamoto's baseball jersey, somewhere between the bed nearest the bathroom and the bathroom door. Gokudera breathes harshly against Yamamoto's shoulder, and it's only when Gokudera chokes on a groan – not from pleasure – that Yamamoto realizes he's hurting him. He scrambles, trying to get off of Gokudera as quickly as he can without hurting him further, and ends up landing hard with his hip cracking against the thin carpeted floor.

" _Fucking ow,_ " Gokudera says in Italian as he tries to sit up. "You don't fucking know how to _slow down_ , do you? _Jesus_ , you moron."

And Yamamoto has heard that enough to know exactly what Gokudera's saying, even in Italian – and he does feel a little bad, because some of Gokudera's bandages are spotted red again. He puts a hand behind his head and tries a sheepish smile before he apologizes for being too rough this time, but then he realizes that Gokudera isn't even looking at him – he's looking down at his hands, a haunted expression on his face.

_Oh, shit_. "Did I–"

Gokudera shakes his head, comes back to his senses and curls in on himself. But he says nothing.

Yamamoto knows that it's time to talk. _Now_. Because Tsuna is going to be there in a matter of hours, and Gokudera's clearly a mess from whatever happened earlier. He needs this as much as Yamamoto does, but getting their frustrations out physically can only take them so far. But it helps; Yamamoto sits up and leans back against the bed, and pulls Gokudera into his arms.

"Talk," he says simply.

And Gokudera shudders, tenses, and looks like he's about to protest, but… stops and sighs instead.

"Nothing," he says. "Just some old baggage."

**end.**


End file.
